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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530551">Thoughtless reflex</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesap/pseuds/Applesap'>Applesap</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Monster!Jon, spoilers for latest episode</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 06:35:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesap/pseuds/Applesap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A shudder crawls up Jon’s spine before he can truly process it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Thoughtless reflex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A shudder crawls up Jon’s spine before he can truly process it. And that shudder turns into a raged snarl spitting down at the woman pleading for his help. His hand is raised, backed away from her, and he shakes from pure disgust as something rotten makes his stomach feel like white hot fire.</p><p> </p><p>Helen is quick to act, “Not so easy, is it? Keeping up your humanity.”</p><p> </p><p>It is not. And Jon doesn’t like to indulge in these instincts. For Martin’s sake. Martin, who stands by him and is his reason for when he strides through mud and blood and wailing mouths and grasping nails as he tries not to recoil from those who manage to break through the haze and address them directly. He looks down on them always, the eye in the sky, and most times this is good. It is, against all morals but not instinct, how it is supposed to be. The eye, them, and at the bottom the people whose fears he needs to spit out in order to digest.</p><p> </p><p>The woman, pleading to him as if he can break this hierarchy, as if he truly <em>wants</em> to, is as far removed from Jon as an ant is from a human. She is to be observed, and the mere idea that he can intervene makes him yank back his hand and his shoulders shudder. Eyes wide, lips raised, staring down at her, because the mere idea is incomprehensible. He can’t help it. It has been a long time since he truly cared about the victims, and her weak but solid hand on his arm feels like a breach of power. Hierarchy. Personal space. <em>Something </em>he can’t name anything else for but disgust.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘She is not like me. She is something different</em>,’ he had often thought about Helen. And later, with much less direction, ‘<em>As is he. As are they.’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He no longer cares to understand the situations the humans find themselves in. Hasn’t for a long time, even if he tries for Martin’s sake. They’re not spoken to. Only observed. Him breaking through the domains like a gentle ship. His captain at the helm. And those under them parting for them as Jon regurgitates their weaknesses.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>After all</em>,’ he thinks bitterly as he gathers himself and straightens out his coat, ‘<em>I am such a very important person.</em>’</p>
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